


Taste of Sunshine

by venis_envy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angel Sex, Angel!Parrish, Established Relationship, Future Fic, I'm Going to Hell, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 12:12:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2150277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venis_envy/pseuds/venis_envy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a pinprick of warmth in the center of his chest, a barely noticeable feeling that Stiles wouldn't recognize at all if not for eleven months of familiarity. It grows slowly, radiates outward from the empty spot the Nemeton left behind, fills him with a glowing heat and leaves goosebumps on his arms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taste of Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically just PWP. Parrish headcanon. I wanted to post it before Monday rolls along and I get Jossed or Kripked (or Davised like a motherf**ker)

Stiles is exhausted by the time he rolls into town. It isn't even late. Especially not by his standards. He's used to staying up until 2am with Lydia and Danny, studying for midterms and, more recently, finals. But something about the long and lonely road from the Bay Area to Beacon Hills has his body convinced it's bedtime at only eight o'clock in the evening. 

He pulls up to the sheriff's station, too anxious to wait until morning, and shuts off the Jeep. It's dark outside, quiet and desolate, the windows dimly illuminating a blue hue from within, but Stiles knows the station isn't as empty as it seems. 

He walks through the front door, making an unnecessary amount of noise to alert his father to his presence. 

"You made it," his dad says, face lighting up in a way Stiles hasn't seen in far too long. 

He hugs his dad, squeezing him tight and breathing in the familiar scent he's missed for weeks. 

"How was the drive?" his dad asks as he leads the way into his office. 

"Boring," Stiles replies, flopping down into a plushy chair by the door. He isn't used to making the trip home on his own. It isn't a long car ride, per se, but he's grown accustomed to having Lydia as a road trip buddy since going off to school. 

"Yeah," the sheriff says, eyes scanning through a file on his desk. "When Mrs. Martin told me they'd be spending Christmas in Hawaii, I worried you wouldn't even bother coming home." 

"Seriously?" Stiles says. "You thought I'd rather spend the entire winter break in the dorm with Danny than here with you?" 

"Ulterior motive, son. I know you have one." 

Stiles rolls his eyes. "How about Melissa's cooking? Does that count?" 

His dad eyes him from over the top of his file, unconvinced. 

"What are you working on?" Stiles asks, nodding toward the file. 

"Parking violations," the sheriff replies. 

"Lies."

"Nothing you need to get involved with," his dad says. "Why don't you head home and get the Jeep unpacked? There's lasagna in the fridge if you're hungry." 

"Whoa. You made lasagna?" 

"It's easy when it starts out frozen."

Stiles snorts with laughter. He sinks back further in his chair, not intending to go anywhere just yet, despite the temptations of home and food. 

There's a pinprick of warmth in the center of his chest, a barely noticeable feeling that Stiles wouldn't recognize at all if not for eleven months of familiarity. It grows slowly, radiates outward from the empty spot the Nemeton left behind, fills him with a glowing heat and leaves goosebumps on his arms. 

He instantly perks up, turns to watch the door in anticipation. 

A small knock comes seconds later, followed by the sheriff's distracted "come in." 

The door opens and Deputy Parrish leans into the office. 

"Sheriff, I found that file you were looking for on the—Stiles. Hey," he greets, smiling brightly. It causes another flash of warmth in Stiles' chest. 

He exhales heavily, somehow relieved just to see Jordan, overcome with a sense of serenity he never really realizes he's missing. 

"Deputy," Stiles says with a casual lift of his hand that completely belies the twisting in his gut. 

Parrish drops his file onto the sheriff's desk. "So, the thing we discussed...I talked to Scott, and he seems to agree with your theory. At least for now. There isn't anything I can do to help until he draws it out. But in case you need some background on the...subject...there's her record. There's a bit more in the store room. I've pulled the box out, but I'm not sure exactly how much of it you need or _want_ at this point." 

The sheriff clears his throat and glances pointedly over at Stiles. "Lasagna," he says. 

"Oh, come on. You think whatever fun you're dealing with, Scott's not gonna tell me?" Stiles tries not to look at Jordan as he says this, but he catches his gaze flicking over to him more than once. 

The sheriff sighs, plucks the file off his desk and flips it open as he stands up. "I don't really know what Scott expects _you_ to do if he really thinks this lady is a—" he looks over at Stiles again, defeated. "Demon," he finishes. "Stiles, I mean it, you stay out of this." 

Stiles raises his hands in capitulation and sits back in his chair. "Not a problem," he says. Stiles hears the word 'demon' and instantly thinks nogitsune, and that's not a sandbox he's willing to play in. 

"Need-to-know, Sheriff," Jordan reminds him. Stiles' dad has known about the supernatural for a couple of years now, but still adamantly refuses to hear more than absolutely necessary. 

"Yeah, well, don't worry. I still don't want to know." The sheriff passes Jordan on his way out the door. "Lasagna, Stiles." 

The two of them are quiet as they listen to the fading sounds of the sheriff's footfalls down the hall. 

"My dad still doesn't know you're a seraph?" Stiles asks, unable to keep the teasing smile from his face. 

"Your dad still doesn't know we're fucking?" Jordan fires back wearing his own amused smirk. 

"Fucking?" Stiles says, affronted. "That's not a very angelic thing to say. He closes the distance between them, hooking a finger into Jordan's belt and tugging him close. 

"Yeah, well, I think I've already sort of diverged off the divine path, anyway."

Stiles licks his lips, staring at Parrish's mouth, and taking in the the perfect curve of his pouty bottom lip. 

"I've missed you," he says quietly. It hasn't been long since they saw each other last, but it feels like forever. 

Parrish smiles, presses his lips to Stiles' and hums into the kiss. 

~*~

Stiles considers himself a happy person. He really is. Life is good. Sure, he's had a few near-misses, but overall, the universe has been good to him. Regression to the mean, as Deaton would say. For all the crazy, terrible and downright depressing, there's a spot of sunshine to bring the balance back. But sometimes, without any discernible reason, Stiles feels an underlying sense of despondency. Almost like the colors bleed out of the world around him, leaving everything gray and bleak. He knows it's because of the incident with the Nemeton from three years ago. Sometimes the darkness tries to consume him. It’s almost always noticeable, always there, just like Deaton told them it would be, hollow and dark, pulsating with a malevolent energy that Stiles knows he's only imagining. 

Jordan has always been a welcome presence. Even before seeing his name on the deadpool and learning what he was, Stiles could feel a difference in himself when he was near. Like all the darkness surrounding his heart was being drowned out by a glowing light that he couldn't see. Something he wasn't able to put to words, but could feel nonetheless. 

Jordan isn't an angel in the traditional sense, but Stiles has learned over the years in Beacon Hills that nothing ever really fits under the category of _traditional._ He doesn't have wings, and despite Stiles' heedless threats to get Jordan a harp, he isn't the least bit musically inclined. He does have a sort of halo, though, in the form of a glowing warmth that emanates from his body. He's filled with a divine light that's so far above anything else that's been drawn to Beacon Hills since the Nemeton that even the most experienced werewolves in Beacon County hadn't recognized it right away. 

Jordan is seraph, a sort of guardian whose main purpose is to protect others, even at the risk of his own life.

It scares Stiles to think about that when he isn't near, worries him to know that Jordan would put himself in harm's way to help someone—anyone—else. But even without their friends knowing about the two of them, Stiles takes comfort in the fact that Scott's here to keep him safe. 

Stiles showers as quickly as he can while his plate of lasagna heats up in the microwave. His dad won't be home until after sunrise, but Jordan's shift ends earlier. Most of his stuff is still crammed in the Jeep, but it can wait until tomorrow. Stiles is too tired to care, and he's anxious to have some alone time with Jordan. 

Thanksgiving break was more than three weeks ago, and between the pack of homesick werewolves and Stiles' father being uncharacteristically clingy, they hadn't been able to steal away without the risk of someone noticing. 

For months, all Stiles had was the sound of Jordan's voice over the phone, and a handful of less-than-innocent texting conversations. A deputy secretly seeing the sheriff's nineteen-year-old son would be enough of a moral plight for anyone, let alone someone with supernatural virtues. Breaking down Jordan’s ethical walls took a lot of time, and Stiles still sometimes has trouble getting Jordan to let go of his inhibitions during their long-distance phone conversations.

Stiles has been well acquainted with his own hands lately, and now all he can think about is getting them all over Jordan. Stiles’ palms practically tingle with the memory of being pressed against the hard planes of Jordan's stomach, turning him over and tracing the faint scars on his back. 

His cock aches with the thought of Jordan, the pale green of his eyes, the way his dark lashes fan out around them, the line of his jaw and the way his throat moves when he’s swallowing around Stiles’ cock.

Stiles is practically on autopilot when he rinses his plate and loads it into the dishwasher, mind occupied with thoughts he usually tries to keep at bay when he's away at school. 

Still tired from the trip home, Stiles drags himself up to his room, falls asleep on top of the covers watching Cupcake Wars and waiting. 

He dreams of summer and yellow sunshine, rays of warmth caressing his body, chasing away the winter chill. 

There's a hum under his skin, a tingling that slowly draws him out if his slumber. He wakes to the gentle weight of a hand against his chest, soft lips pressing kisses to his temple, his jaw, then finally his mouth. Stiles can feel him everywhere, not just a physical touch, but the grace of his presence burning from within. 

When he's gained enough awareness to recognize the warmth engulfing him, Stiles wraps his arms around Jordan, blinking his vision into focus. 

"Pretty," he murmurs, still half asleep. 

Jordan laughs, leans forward and presses his smile to Stiles' neck. 

He's got an air of innocence about him that Stiles finds more than a little charming. But it usually doesn't take much for Stiles to draw out the need, to see Jordan's expression shift and darken. It's the part Stiles loves best, slowly working the barriers down, driving up Jordan's lust with the touch of his hands and tongue against skin that's too warm, too inviting to be human. 

Stiles shifts closer, his dick giving a hard throb as he pushes against Jordan's hip, drags his tongue across the line of his jaw. 

Jordan nuzzles into Stiles' neck, reaches down between them and cups the bulge of Stiles' dick. 

"You awake?" he asks. "I've been waiting too long for you to sleep through any of this." 

He presses another soft, warm kiss to Stiles' lips, the taste of his mouth sweet and welcoming. Stiles might actually see stars, but he isn't sure if that's from the typical effect Jordan has on him, or if he's still partly asleep. 

Jordan draws abstract patterns on Stiles' chest, leans in to kiss the invisible marks as if he can actually see them there, as if they mean something. 

The way he looks at Stiles, the way he touches him, it all reminds Stiles of just how tiny their world really is, how significant every single minute of life is. 

By the time they're undressed, Jordan straddling his hips and sliding his smooth, hard dick against Stiles', Stiles is definitely awake. 

"Holy shit," he says, tipping his head up to watch their cocks move together. It's a slow slide, each gentle forward thrust tugging Jordan's foreskin down, giving Stiles a teasing glimpse of the head, already oozing precome in a way Stiles will never be used to seeing. 

God, he wants that in his mouth, but the slow slide feels so good that he doesn't want it to stop. He curls his fingers around Jordan's hips instead, feels the current buzzing under his skin as he pulls him forward, rocking against him. 

Jordan leans down, flicks his tongue over Stiles' nipple, sending a spark of pleasure straight down his spine, and Stiles arches into the touch, just like he always does. 

Sex with Jordan is always like this. Perfectly paced, never rushed. Everything is intense, amplified to the peak of ecstasy. Like they don't just fuck with their bodies, they fuck with their entire existence. Coming together and twisting around each other until there's no end or beginning. It's euphoric, and Stiles savors every second.   
   
It's the sort of experience you can't just stop abruptly. There's a kind of come-down period in which they have to continue touching, kissing, or just being really close, slowly untangling as they come back to themselves. 

It's just one more inexplicable part of Jordan's supernatural abilities that neither of them fully understand. Like a life support that both of them have to be eased off of slowly. 

Carding his fingers through the soft hair at the base of Jordan's head, Stiles pulls him down into a more fervent, desperate kiss, slicking their tongues together, swallowing down the contented little sounds of pleasure. 

Jordan continues to rock against Stiles, the hard planes of his stomach trapping their cocks together with the perfect amount of pressure. 

"Hold still," Stiles tells him after only a minute of this. He isn't really in danger of coming yet, but all the sensations are almost too much to take in, and he just needs a minute to _feel._  

Jordan laughs against his lips, kisses the corner of his mouth and just lies there for a moment. His hands are gripping the pillow on each side of Stiles' head, but Stiles can still feel his touch everywhere, ghosting over his skin like a warm summer breeze, dancing across his shoulders, down his arms, his inner thighs, even the back of his neck. 

"You've got to stop doing that," he says halfheartedly. 

"I can't control it," Jordan replies in a breathless whisper. 

It's true, Stiles knows. They haven't exactly had a chance to talk about the sexual aspects of Jordan's supernatural demeanor with anyone who would know. Not without giving themselves away. But Stiles is okay with that, likes the idea of being the one Jordan discovers all of these things with. 

He takes a second to collect himself, fingers pressing into the ladder of Jordan's ribcage, and he stares up into his eyes. 

There's a spark of light in Jordan's gaze, something so pure and integral.  
Stiles' chest aches with it, just that single look. Jordan is incredible. He's everything. Sweet, sensual, and _dangerous_. Stiles gets lost in the miasma of sensations every time he touches him. Jordan is fucking lethal, and he has no idea. 

Stiles uses the moment of stillness to his advantage, maneuvering Jordan onto his back and moving over him. 

His fingertips follow the trail of the dip down the center of Jordan's muscled abdomen, trace all the way down to the base of his hard dick. 

He circles his fingers around Jordan's cock, gives it a few slow, distracted strokes, like the motion is capable of helping him focus, channel his thoughts to one goal instead of the scattered need to feel Jordan everywhere, inside and out. 

Stiles splays his other hand out on Jordan's stomach, flat and grounding while he focuses on the velvety soft skin of his dick. 

When he can't wait any longer, Stiles leans forward and sucks Jordan's cock into his mouth. The salty taste of his precome bursts on the back of Stiles' tongue, causing him to moan around his mouthful of cock. 

Jordan gasps like the breath has been punched out of him, and Stiles takes a small amount of pleasure in knowing he has that affect on him. 

He pulls off of Jordan's dick, drags his tongue up the underside of it and sucks gently at his slit before taking him in again. 

Each time he steals a glance at Jordan, his eyes are closed, chest and neck flushed pink in the most delicious way.  

Stiles alternates between teasing licks, and carefully scraping his teeth up and down Jordan's cock. He traces the veins of it with the tip of his tongue, making a series of obscene noises he knows Jordan loves. 

Stiles loves it, too. There's something about bringing someone else that kind of pleasure that gets him off. He has to keep reminding himself not to touch his own dick, not to rub himself off against the sheet while his lips are stretched around Jordan. 

Stiles flicks his tongue along the rim of Jordan's dick, gets him sloppy and wet so his hand can glide up and down the shaft with ease while he sucks at the head. 

Jordan's writhing against the sheets, tensing up and hissing sharp breaths between clenched teeth. 

Stiles doesn't have to look to know the expression on his face. They've done this enough in the eleven months they've been together to have every single sound and look memorized. The way his eyes roll a little when Stiles drags a thumb over his nipple; the soft, broken moans he tries so hard to hold back when Stiles sucks a kiss into his inner thigh; the choked, desperate groan he lets out when Stiles pushes two fingers into him and licks around the edge. 

"Stiles, wait." Jordan's fingers twist into Stiles' hair, tugging him up to meet his gaze. 

The pale green of his irises are almost entirely eclipsed by lust-blown pupils, and it only serves to fuel Stiles' own desire. He swats Jordan's hand away, curls his tongue around Jordan's cock as he sinks back down until he's choking and sputtering from the feel of it at the back of his throat. 

"Stiles..." Jordan's voice is strained, rough and gravely like he's the one with a cock rubbing his throat raw. "I don't wanna come until you're inside me," he says. 

And Stiles can get on board with that. It's what he wants, too, to feel Jordan's insides contracting around his cock as he comes. 

Stiles nods, places a kiss to Jordan's hip, then reaches over to the bedside table. 

He slips a lube-slick hand up the crack of Jordan's ass, pausing for a teasing second to circle his hole, press the barest tip of his thumb into him before continuing up. He gently cups Jordan's balls, slides his slick hand up and down Jordan's dick, soaking in every little sound of pleasure that escapes him. 

Jordan's eyes are half closed, teeth pressing into his bottom lip as he drags his own hand down his chest and rolls a nipple between two fingers. Stiles can feel a ghost of the touch on his own chest, even though Jordan's fingers are nowhere near him. 

Jordan makes a needy sound, pressing down and trying to fuck himself on Stiles' fingers, and Stiles feels something twist inside him. Gratitude, maybe, a little bit of awe. Jordan is so fucking beautiful, his full, pouty lips; clear, bright eyes; skin as smooth as porcelain over muscles that are hard as rock. 

It used to make Stiles feel a little bit self conscious, but Jordan worships him in a way that leaves no room for doubt. Now, Stiles just feels fortunate that this is his, that he gets to have him, and maybe even keep him. 

Jordan tips his head to the side, exposing the long expanse of his neck, the tendon that runs up the side, and groans as his teeth release the abused flesh of his bottom lip. 

"God, you want this so much, don't you?" Stiles says, his free hand holding Jordan's hip firmly, pressing marks into the pale skin as his fingers slide into him. 

Jordan almost smiles then—almost—but Stiles finds that perfect angle with the twist of his wrist and whatever words he was about to say break off into a desperate, shuddering gasp. 

Stiles moves his hand from its place on Jordan's hip, braces it on the mattress so he can lean a little closer and watch Jordan's face. 

"Like this?" Stiles asks, more to be playful than to get an actual response. He doesn't need Jordan to confirm what Stiles already knows. 

He pushes into him again with practiced ease, hooks his fingers and drags out slowly. Jordan's back arches up off the bed as he makes a soft choking noise, fingers digging into Stiles' shoulders and pulling him closer. 

Stiles moves forward, dragging his tongue up the side of Jordan's neck, nipping at his jaw before sucking an earlobe between his lips. 

"You even _taste_ perfect," Stiles tells him, and Jordan whines again, hooks an arm around Stiles' neck and holds him close. 

A hand skims down Stiles' back, fingertips kneading into his ass cheek as Jordan continues to writhe with every thrust of Stiles' fingers. 

"What did I tell you about making me come?" Jordan asks. He's trying to be stern, but the words are shaky and Stiles has to stifle a laugh against his shoulder. 

"To do it a lot, and often?"

Jordan drags his blunt nails up Stiles' back, sucks Stiles' bottom lip between his own and then kisses him, filthy and deep until both of them are pulling back, panting for breath as their chests heave together. 

"More recent instructions, I mean."

Stiles grins, sits up and withdraws his fingers, shifting into place between Jordan's parted thighs. 

He lets his cockhead tease Jordan's entrance as his hands spread him open, drags it up and down, watching as it catches on Jordan's rim until they're both dizzy with need because this...this is just not enough.

Jordan reaches down, puts his fingers on the slick shaft of Stiles' cock. His mouth goes slack when he feels where they're connected, circles a fingertip around his own stretched rim, and then urges Stiles forward. 

"Yeah," Stiles says, watching as his cock disappears in the slick heat of Jordan's body. "Take it," he groans. "I know you want it."

Jordan wraps his hands around Stiles' waist, pulling him closer with an impatient growl. 

Finally, Stiles sinks into him in one smooth, deliberate stroke. They slot together with a perfect precision, both of their bodies recognizing the other, as if this is how they belong. They each sigh with an almost comical sort of relief. 

Stiles circles his hips, his dick held firm by Jordan's clamped muscles, just feeling him, exploring the tight heat. 

Jordan groans, his eyes falling shut and his lips parting on a soundless, shaky breath. 

"Look at me," Stiles says, cupping Jordan's chin as he pulls almost all the way out. "You can close your eyes when we're having phone sex, but not when I'm inside you." 

Jordan's eyes flutter open, a wicked smirk creasing his lips. "I just needed a minute, wanted to focus on the feel of you in me," he says before wrapping his fingers around Stiles' biceps. "It's been too long." He hooks a leg around Stiles' waist, heel pressing into Stiles' ass as he tries to pull him deeper. 

Stiles slides back in at his own agonizingly slow pace, not breaking eye contact with Jordan, and smiles a little himself when he sees the golden light from within dance through the green of Jordan's eyes. 

"Come on, Stiles. It's been three months. Is that all you've got for me?"

Stiles huffs out a laugh, shakes his head in disbelief—innocent, his ass—and falls forward bracing himself on the heels oh his hands. Jordan's breath trembles out against Stiles' lips as he fucks into him, raw and unyielding. 

Stiles licks into Jordan's mouth, leaves his lips shiny with the wet of his tongue and snaps his hips forward, again and again. He knows he can get a deeper angle if he sits up, but his skin is tingling with the need to be close to Jordan, to press against him wherever he can. 

He closes his fingers around Jordan's wrists, draws his hands up over his head and guides Jordan's fingers around the underside of the headboard. 

"Hold this," he says before placing another wet kiss to the side of Jordan's neck. 

Stiles sits back, drags his cock almost all the way out, and then shoves in again, deeper this time, harder. He presses his hands to the back of Jordan's knees, thumbs gliding through the slickness of sweat that's collected there, and pushes them up, letting gravity take control as he sinks into him again. 

He grinds into Jordan, hard and deep, punching the breath right out of each of their lungs, feels the tingling echo of Jordan's touch under his skin, _everywhere._

It's so fucking intense, so overwhelming that Stiles can practically _see_ all the boundaries between them blurring together, like paint being dropped into water, spreading over the surface and twisting together just beneath. 

He watches as Jordan's gaze darkens, intensifies, and he knows he feels it, too. 

"I hope this never stops," Stiles says out loud, even though he doesn't mean to. 

"I think it would have by now," Jordan replies. 

Stiles slams into him again, relentless in his pace, not giving Jordan a chance to even catch his breath, stroking him from the inside with punishing determination. 

Jordan uses his white-knuckled grip on the headboard as leverage to cant his hips, arch up into every thrust as if he just can't get Stiles deep enough. 

The sounds he makes are almost a physical thing, crashing into Stiles and reverberating throughout his entire body. 

Stiles is panting, out of breath and dripping sweat, but he isn't done yet, doesn't want to be. He slows his pace, rocking into Jordan gently, and it's somehow even more intense than the animalistic pounding from seconds before. 

He takes inventory of Jordan's body, checks for bruises and marks as he touches him everywhere he can reach, and basks in the fiery heat of his skin under Stiles' fingertips. 

Stiles glances down at Jordan's leaking cock, thinks of the taste of him on his tongue and shivers from the memory of just a few minutes ago. 

He wants to. Thinks maybe he can. Stiles has seen it done in porn before. Jordan always tells him not to build his reality on anything he sees on the internet, but his dick is certainly long enough, and Stiles knows Jordan won't mind if he tries. If he could just...

Stiles pulls out as he leans down, the head of his cock tugging at Jordan's rim as his muscles clench in an effort to keep Stiles inside. Stiles doesn't pull out all the way, though. Just enough so that he can lean down and lick the head of Jordan's dick, suck the tip into his mouth. 

Stiles can't contort properly to keep up with the heavy thrusts from before, but he can still fuck into Jordan shallowly with the twitch of his hips as he tongues the slit of Jordan's cock, sucks the head into his mouth and flattens his tongue against the underside.

"Fuck," Jordan breathes, his hands shaking as they clench into fists on Stiles' thighs. "Jesus. God. Stiles," he whines. 

"Are you praying now, too?" Stiles can't help but ask with a teasing smile as he pulls off of Jordan's cock. "That's cute," he says, straightening his back and sliding in balls deep again. "See? You haven't completely fallen from grace yet." 

"Come here," Jordan says, pulling Stiles down on top of him, licking the taste of his own precome off of Stiles' tongue. 

Stiles reaches down between them, circles his fingers around the base of his own dick to keep from coming, because _that_ could easily be the thing that tips him over the edge. 

"God, you're fucking lethal," he tells Jordan. Stiles scrapes his teeth along the edge of his jaw, sucks a bruise into Jordan's collar bone that he knows everyone will see but can't quite find it in himself to care. 

Licking the sheen of sweat from Jordan's chest, Stiles rolls his hips, mind fogged with desire, intoxicated by the feel of Jordan's heart thrumming against Stiles' tongue and lips. 

It doesn't take long after that, a few more shallow thrusts, hips rolling in tandem and tongues sliding together. Stiles feels the tension building in both of them, the pliant, soft touch of the body beneath him going taut, teeth clenching. Jordan's release is sticky-hot between them, splashing up Stiles' stomach and chest as they slide together and Jordan gasps and keens with the intensity of it. Stiles is close behind, a white-hot twist at the base of his spine, sparks of light that flit across his vision and prickle on his skin inside and out. Stiles comes with a shudder and a sob, sweat trickling down his forehead and the back of his neck as he fills Jordan up.

His hips stutter as the pulse of his dick finally starts to slow, Jordan's ass still clenched tight and unrelenting around him. 

They both just lie there, panting into each other's shoulders as their minds start to clear. 

"I swear to God," Stiles says eventually, "if the world knew what sex with a seraph was like, I'd have to fight everyone off of you." 

Jordan's chest trembles with silent laughter, his fingers tracing up and down Stiles' arms. "I don't think it's like this for everyone," he says. 

Stiles slides down Jordan's chest a little, his soft cock slipping free of the heat of Jordan's body. He folds his arms over Jordan's chest, rests his chin on his wrist as he looks up at him. 

"No?" he asks. 

Jordan shakes his head, scratches a fingernail through the hair just above Stiles' ear. "You're not the first person I've had sex with, you know," he says. "Or the second, or third, or—"

"Okay," Stiles interrupts. 

Jordan chuckles, combs his fingers into Stiles' messy hair affectionately. "It's definitely never been like this with anyone else."

That's...well, that's something Stiles will have to file away for later consideration. He kisses Jordan's chest again, the soft spot where his ribs meet just below his sternum. He licks the salt from his skin and hums in satisfaction. 

Stiles' own skin feels raw to the touch, tingling and hypersensitive in the best possible way. He's torn between the impulse to move away, to not even let the roughness of the sheets touch him, and still wanting— _needing_ —Jordan to be closer, to keep touching him. 

Jordan does. His hands are silky soft and far too gentle for what they've just done, but it isn't new to either of them. Jordan knows what Stiles needs, and takes great pleasure in giving it to him. 

Stiles whines a little, resisting the urge to pull away, and burrows his face into the crook of Jordan's neck instead. 

His lips move against the skin there unconsciously, silent words and tired kisses, and Jordan just wraps his arms around Stiles, holds him close as they both come down. 

~*~

There's a quick wrap of knuckles against Stiles' bedroom door sometime in the morning before it should be legal for anyone to actually be awake. 

Stiles picks his head up off Jordan's chest, ignoring the string of drool as he glares at the closed door. 

He's sure Jordan locked it when he came in last night, but even if not, there's no way his dad would just let himself in, so he isn't too worried. 

Stiles grumbles some sort of half-awake greeting-slash-expletive and rubs the sleep out of his eyes. 

"Scott's here. Tell your boyfriend to put his pants on," his dad calls through the door. "He's got a demon to vanquish." 

Stiles looks up at Jordan, eyes wide as he takes in the state of shock on his face, the pallor of his skin. Jordan's mouth moves without any sounds actually coming out, and Stiles can't help but laugh. 

"Well, I guess that takes care of that problem," he says, rolling off the bed to get them some clothes.

**Author's Note:**

> Me: "Huh. Sex with an angel. That would be an intense experience. It might just be beyond my realm of imagination."  
> Vamp: *casual shrug* "Just read up on the effects of sex while on ecstasy."  
> Well...okay. then. 


End file.
